When silence is more eloquent than word ,
When words are more expressive than all tunes,
The shepherds of intellect quickly herd,
The sheep of agonies and the boons.
The sounds are only felt but never heard;
The feelings glowing like unrisen moon.
The thought is like an unseen roaring bird,
The heart a string and continuously swoons.
The mood is vagrant and the vagrant mood,
Impatient of commotion and impatience,
Is understood and still not understood,
Intoxicated by a soundless cadence.
The soul is poised to unravel the thistle sounds,
But pen delays the writing of the words.